Curtains
by VoiSieteQui
Summary: Terrorist AU.  Angst, tragedy, incest, taboo, in the midst of happy Mpreg fluffy lemon PWPs. A soulless boy with a terminal illness, the curtain that separates him and the silhouette of that man - Miyagi.
1. Chapter 1

Hey.

Present for a friend, due to my extreme procrastination, a belated birthday gift, forgive me. _

Honestly speaking, Terrorist isn't my favorite couple, but you have to admit they're pretty cute. Egoist is my fav pairing, and I shudder at the thought of the Romanticist (or is it Romantist)? GAH. It's just a cliche, you know? Still, JR is a lovely, super cute series.

Oh right. If you're looking for fluff or PWP, I suggest you just not read this...

It's kind of depressing, but I'm having a ball writing this.

BUT I PROMISE YOU THERE WILL BE SOME SCENES. Note the "some."

I don't own JR. If I did, I would make Hiroki confess his love for Nowaki a million times over, if that could ever happen...

And also, PLEASE REVIEW.

heh.

Oh shoot, I forgot that this is the TERRORIST COUPLE. Not egoist, not sappy cliche couple, EGOIST. You know the cabbage one?

* * *

Shinobu POV

_If only eternity would stop for me….._

The hospital bed next to mine was occupied one day.

The curtains that separated us formed a barrier, one that could yield to a slight breeze, but also an impenetrable wall that I could never break down.

The creamy white linen was the only color I saw as I turned to the side, seeing the silhouette of that man.

Who was he waiting for?

Why was here?

I could only answer my own questions, make up my own stories, for there would never be an answer. Even if I ever did find out…

I would already be in my grave.

Jealousy seized me – that girl on the other side had someone that loved her, someone that treasured, remembered her. If only, if only someone was here, waiting for me, thinking of me, the pain would lessen.

Just a few words would be enough for me to sleep peacefully.

My desire would never be fulfilled.

* * *

Every day, he sits there in the hard plastic chair the hospital offers for visitors. The navy blue chair is unoccupied on my side, having remained cold for such a long time. My bedside is austere, so no flowers, no cards. Just a desk, along with a notebook with unused, clean pages.

My fingers itch for a pencil and a scratch piece of paper to capture his shadow – his broad shoulders, his bowed head as he reads.

He reads literature out loud to that girl as she listens quietly, occasionally giggling softly in hushed, tired tones. His mellow voice lulls me to sleep as I eavesdrop, appreciating the sound of the words as he enunciates them, painting tapestries of vivid color.

Soothing, quiet.

Beautiful. Surely such a mellifluous voice would have handsome features. Though his face remains a mystery, excitement overtook me as I imagined his face – straight nose? Long? What color of eyes would he have? His mouth…long, thin? What would he look like with his eyes cast down, gliding over the printed words?

What….

If only I could see his face.

Would it be what I'd imagined, passing time? Yet….what if, what if he was completely different?

I….I

I don't want to know.

I'm scared….of reality. In this hospital room, there is only me, the shadow, and the color white.

This is my reality.

If only the curtain would part.

* * *

It's been a few months already.

The white of the hospital have become different.

It's an imperceptible change, but they're no longer that harsh.

My hair…..it's grown out. Wisps of it caress the nape of my neck, curling up at my slight shoulders. The sandy colored hair should be cut already. I'm not used to this heaviness, the length of my hair. I've always kept it short during school, preferring the wind to run through my hair…..

Such memories of long ago.

I miss the wind. I miss the outside, the sweat after exertion, the aching of my muscles, the color of my sun browned skin.

Ah…

I've gotten quite pale.

Translucent, almost. Lifting up my arm with the strength I could muster, my head propped up, I study the criss-crossing webs of blue green blood vessels underneath my skin.

In those vessels, is my blood.

Soon, I know, the blood will become stagnant. No more blood flow, no more pumping, no more pulsing of the crimson liquid. Only a pale, dead corpse.

Should I be scared? Or….relieved?

Death would bring me long awaited peace, escape.

Wasn't this what I was looking for in the beginning anyways? I should be happy then….but I don't even know if I welcome death.

I've already resigned myself to a cold, cold nothingness.

* * *

The girl next to me doesn't have long to live.

Her persistent coughing has worsened, to the extent where she's coughing up blood.

It's actually red mucus streaked with scarlet, bubbly blood, with chunks of rust colored, coagulated blood in it, but I don't want to think about it too much. When the nurses come to my bed to inject me with more immunoglobins, I listen to them chatter about all the neighboring patients.

Apparently she's not looking too good either.

We'd be on the same boat then…

Riding on Charon's to Hades together. Ha.

Ha. Ha.

Pathetic joke.

Still, what a revolting way to die. I'd much rather prefer to die peacefully, possibly without any disgusting fluid coming up from my lungs.

He doesn't read as often as before. Whenever she coughs, he rushes to her side and embraces her, holding her close till both silhouettes meld into one. He assuages her, gently whispering words of encouragement and hope. Telling her what they'd do together after she gets let out of the hospital, how much he loves her, how _LOVE _will get them through the hard times.

That's…

Complete **BULLSHIT.**

Does he think telling a girl false lies before she dies will help? I wanted to get up and shake her so badly but I can't do that, with my current condition.

Does she think that she'll live? Tough luck. The Heavens aren't that merciful.

Someone ought to tell her that the only way they'll be together is in the afterworld. Someone should tell her already that she's going to –

Die.

That's right.

Just like me.

Someone spare her the hurt when she finds out….. she's only got so much time before death.

As for him…."Miyagi," his name I learned….I know his tearless sobs when she's asleep. Through the curtain, I see his shoulders heave, his uneven breathing. He knows.

…..Bastard.

Hiding the truth, what was he trying to accomplish?

Who was that girl, anyways?

His lover? His girlfriend, his wife?

I turned away from the curtain, closing my eyes in frustration.

* * *

A long time ago, I think…

I wasn't this way.

Wasn't this cynical, wasn't so tired, so sick….so dead.

I don't remember too clearly anymore, for it feels like I've spent the eternity in here. Life, for me, was charming. Like a picture frozen in time – a flurry of blurred smiles, friendly banters, first loves at school, and underlying all that –

…...

…...

The feelings I felt were too much for words to describe. Too complex for mere phonetic letters to convey.

Even though I only chose to remember the happy things in my mere 18 year old life, the only word is…

Pitiful.

I can't suppress all my memories. With it comes pain, the constant reminder that I would never, ever…

The fake smile I molded, plastered on my face was so deceptive that even I too, was convinced.

* * *

This morning, I took a shower.

I mean I can still stand, but my legs feel like rubber – not flexible, but more leaden.

I feel like they're not my legs anymore, they're someone else's. I don't really feel them, even if I do happen to stub one of my toes, or manage to hit my shin, only a tingling sensation occurs.

Pinpricks or needles, numb, I guess.

Shuffling over and stepping onto the slippery tile floor, I feel anxious. What'll happen if I slip?

Staring at my skinny legs, I suddenly felt so small, so helpless.

What will happen when I finally succumb to this sickness?

I manage to sit down, feeling the warm water cascade around me. Tracing circular patterns on my milky thighs, I suddenly pinch it hard, seeing the red suddenly blossom under.

I shudder, and suppress my voice.

"Ugh…."

I stay in the shower till the water runs cold.

* * *

Please, read and review.

Thanks.


	2. Chapter 2

The second chapter.

Still Shinobu's view.

JR does not belong to me, please review. Thanks.

**Curtains, Continued**

* * *

That girl is going to die soon.

It's certain, I can feel it. I don't need a doctor to tell me.

That bitter, acrid smell is unmistakable in the air. Like an animal, those sick also can tell…only another reminder of how soon our bodies will decompose and rot.

I can only look at her with pity through the curtain.

That man…

I don't know anymore. Does he know of her impending death, or is he also clueless?

Is he in denial? Does he too, shut himself away from the truth?

Her surgery is scheduled for Thursday, I think. I've lost track of the days, for time now has no meaning.

She'll die, either of complications, or just….

Nothing will save her anymore.

One day…

One day, he'll find the bed next to me empty.

She'll be gone, gone, like the capricious wind.

I can only listen to his open, raw sobbing then.

* * *

The past, I forget. The future, I wait for.

I've no hopes, dreams, nor aspirations, for fate has made that clear to me.

I know exactly what my future is. I know exactly what I'm waiting for.

Unquestionable, indisputable.

I am, waiting for my impending death.

Sometimes I wonder what it feels like – is it just a soothing black, or is it pain filled? Is it sorrowful…or sweet release?

When this paralysis spreads until it takes control of my body, will I freeze in place?

Eyes closed, or open?

I wonder if my face will finally be peaceful in the afterlife, or will it just be another emaciated skeleton…

I spend my passing time pondering these trivial things.

I am not afraid of Death.

I am not afraid of being forgotten.

I am afraid that my "reality" now will be shattered once again like a mirror, never to be pieced together again.

This life, in this hospital bed, is good enough for me. I live a content life.

I am…

Happy?

I am afraid that I'll escape the clutches of Death.

I don't particularly want to go from this world, yet though ironic, paradoxical…when the time comes, I want to die.

I'll just be ashes floating in the air. There'll be no tombstone, no marker. I won't have a grave.

Like drapes fluttering in the wind, soon enough my soul will fly.

God is only another name to me. There will never be eternal salvation for this body. I've done too much to even be forgiven, so to the fiery inferno I'll go. I'll pay for my sins.

Yet with this creeping anesthesia, I will let go of all earthly pains and dilemmas.

I'm happy with the way I am now.

My thoughts….they confuse me.

I guess I'll go when I have to, and leave this world.

I've nothing to lose – there's nothing in this world for me to remain attached. Nothing left for me to love.

* * *

They purposefully keep mirrors away from me.

It's part of "treatment."

It's useless though, considering how they want me to remain sane, even though they know what'll happen to me.

Completely impractical, a waste of money.

They still do it anyways, so I don't care much. I was curious though.

I wonder how I've changed for the past seven months.

Is it so wrong for me to gaze at my face? I've almost forgotten what I look like –

It's not what you think it is – I won't break the mirror and cut myself or anything.

They're afraid that when I finally see my reflection, I'll lose it.

They're afraid that I'll go crazy and gouge my eyes out with my own hands…that's why they keep my nails filed, blunt and flat. There will be nothing sharp to harm myself with.

Eyes

I can't look into them.

Deep pools and abysses, they scare me with their never ending depths.

It feels like I'll fall, fall into them, and drown.

* * *

I managed to get hold of a mirror today.

Of course, by "illegal" means.

Curiosity killed the cat, no, it killed the sick, weak, pathetic person wasting away in the hospital bed.

One of the nurses in the other room came.

I know her face – I've seen her before. Like clucking hens, they always gossip, their minds filled nonsense and incessant chatter.

I've heard what they say about me too.

Hmph.

Though I'm sick, that doesn't mean I'm unresponsive.

A close caress, a seductive glance, then a passionate kiss.

That's all it takes for me to win these pathetic creatures over.

They'll pant and cry out, in only lust. They desire.

They want.

They need me.

I detest their clinginess, their desperation.

Even then, I'll use them as pawns in my losing chess game.

Maybe….maybe I really am the son of a whore.

* * *

I hid the little shard of insanity in the breast pocket of my shirt.

This time, in the shower, it was different.

I felt what I had not felt in a long time – a spark, a smoldering spark, a sudden flame of excitement.

My heart thumping, as I tried to drag myself under the torrent.

I laughed, a small, incredulous laugh.

My hands were…..shaking.

My clothes stuck to my skin, wet and transparent. I didn't bother to undress.

The tension….

Was unbearable.

I took the small sliver out, closing my eyes as I did.

The planes of my chest rose quickly, up and down, up and down.

There…

My face.

The same thin, chestnut hair framing a foreign face.

Pale, colorless.

I was once beautiful, these lips used to be shell pink.

A blossom kissing my cheeks.

But now.

I cannot recognize the person before me.

All I can see is these eyes.

Bottomless pits of desolation, I can't think, no I can't see these

These eyes staring back at me, questioning me asking me accusing me STOP STOP STOP STOP!.

I'm scared I don't want to see this I-

A harsh, raw scream emits from my own lips.

The sound of a wild animal with no way out.

The shard drops as I clutch my face in terror.

* * *

Poor Shinobu.

XD


	3. Chapter 3

So my friend told me that this is more of a poem than a fic. I didn't originally plan for it to be a poem. BUT I HAVE MY REASONS, IN WHICH YOU HAVE TO FIND OUT MY FRIEND. *stares*

I wouldn't say this is a poem….

Oh, but I would like to thank xYomyom and noalunettes very much for their reviews, it made me very happy. Hell, I know not many people want to read death fics, but I've got a twisted sense of humor, *chuckles*

Who knows. It might not be a death fic.

This is the start of crazy shit happening.

JR does not belong to me. If it did, I wouldn't make up this story because I wouldn't want Shinobu to suffer so much. *kof yeah right*

* * *

I woke up, once again in this cage.

Maximum security, in order to assure that something like that would not happen again.

Locked in these chains; the IV drips, needles running, melding into my skin.

Jailed in this cell, unable to move from where I am, like a cripple.

So weak, like a newborn.

Unable to fend for myself, and once again I am helpless.

Crying, with no one to hear me.

Hungry with no one to feed me.

Dying, with no one to watch me.

I suppose it's okay this way –

I –

* * *

Visiting hours are long past.

The white now, has turned to the color of deep blue, dark shadows flickering across the lighter linen of the curtain, dancing shades of black.

The soft sounds of snores are soothing; the breathing is pacifying like a lullaby.

I catch myself listening closely.

It's too soft for me to discern if it's the man's, or the girl's. Perhaps he is staying over, sneaking in, against the rules.

I can't see.

It's too black for me to tell….

These shadows, remind me of the shadow puppets – my hands twisted in intricate ways, manipulating the darkness to create my own.

I don't have any reserves of strength left to lift these feeble hands.

* * *

Suddenly awake

This aroma is too overpowering -

This smell, no, it can't be –

My eyes snap open in horror.

Musk, wood, rosemary, this citrus fragrance.

I feel hyperventilation settling in, I can't breathe.

This scent is nauseating.

Disgustingly overpowering, sickening.

My stomach churns.

It must be a familiar nightmare that haunts my mind.

My racing heart speeds up, breathing shallow. Surely it can't be of all people, _him. _

It's been seven months there would be no way that he would come….

Please.

Spare me, God.

Let this only be a drifting nightmare.

Let the sound of footsteps only be my imagination.

* * *

They're coming nearer.

The louder the steps, the faster my heart thumps in terror.

The clack of the shoes across the tiles of the floor, expensive, polished leather shoes.

Unmistakable.

The sound, that is. I've heard it only so many times before.

And with this –

The torture begins anew.

It abruptly stops.

He's arrived.

So easily, the curtains are brushed aside, my oasis destroyed. My privacy, so easily gone. The fragile world I created myself has been crushed with ease by….

It's always been like this.

I've been a fool. Perhaps, these months I've forgotten what life was like before.

I'm being punished for being happy….

What I 'loved' before, he took. What I 'wanted,' he had.

But what he desired.

He would never have.

That's why this torture continues.

I can only endure.

"Shinobu….it's been quite a while."

* * *

Long drown out vowels, a lazy, unguarded voice. I can detect the cruel smirk in his voice as he looks at me. I can imagine his face. He may be smiling, but his eyes will be filled with a fathomless hatred.

Scrutinizing me.

Murdering me multiple times in his imagination.

My back is turned, I close my eyes.

Please, don't let him hear my heartbeat; don't let him smell my fear, don't let him detect my trembling.

Cold sweat beads on my brow, and I've turned cold.

Feigning sleep, I know he won't be fooled.

"Hmph."

He takes a step closer.

"Seven months is hardly a long time."

Roughly a foot separates us.

He closes in.

* * *

Who is "he"? BAHAHAHAHAHA SHINOBU. THE START OF YOUR TORTURE...Oh gosh. I sound so sadistic.

yep. Crazy shit's gonna happen.


	4. Chapter 4

Gyahhhhh

I'm so sorry T_T.

I haven't really been updating because a) I'm a lazy ass b)I procrastinate c)Writer's block (which I have….like…what, every other day) d) Plus this week I've got a shitload of tests.

But hey! We'll find out who 'he' is

Shout out once again, to noalunettes and XYomyom (I think this is how you spell it), and the Blind Girl...and TsukiMegamiChanx: Thank you so much.

My heart flutters about like butterfly wings in the capricious wind - …..yeah, you get it, lol.

I've never really taken writing a fanfic seriously, but hopefully this will be some legit stuff.

**JR isn't mine…how long do I have to do this for?**

* * *

_**Curtains 4**_

_Your answer….is a lie._

_Tell me, though, when you whisper in my ear – are you laughing? _

_Mocking me in my weak, pathetic state, I no longer believe you anymore._

_Reminders of my worthlessness._

_I refuse to be forced into this dank corner, as you stand above me, smirking. I'll take this, the pain, the terror, the despair. I'll swallow my pride and hurt – I will still stand._

_Even the current me, now. _

_I refuse to be drowned in your venomously honeyed traps._

_These tears that gather. _

_I won't let them slip and slide down._

_These tears; they'll never be yours._

* * *

"Seven months…."

Is not a long time for him.

Yet for me…

These seven months were bliss, as I waited for this impending, sweet death.

To be free from these earthly chains that shackle me.

For once, my life was in my hands, my fate decided.

It was something concrete, something I could cling to.

Destroyed.

He's come to destroy everything I hold dear.

* * *

There's another person present.

The sound of another human's breathing; it's shallow and feminine.

No….

Not again.

He notices the imperceptible shudder of my body when I realize –

"_Feigning sleep….it's useless."_

He knows me only too well.

The slight rustle of clothes and the gasp of the nurse – her cloying fragrance also mixes in with that of his. He tears open her blouse, exposing her breasts.

I can see the outline of their entwined bodies from the wall that I face.

"_Your Father, you know. He misses you a lot."_

The sound of lips smothering, languid sucking evolving into harsh sounds of biting and dominance. The groans of the nurse are muffled as he continues to violate her.

She accepts his advances, willingly.

My 'Father'…..

"_He loves you enough to bring those whores in from the streets for substitute."_

This 'family' that He mentions.

I don't want to hear it.

Terrible lies. The suffering I endured – I never want to go back.

His hands reach down as she runs her fingers through his hair, moaning with pleasure. Sliding down, slowly, he begins.

"_Do you hear this? This sound."_ He snickers and looks back, careful not to wake the sick, sleeping girl.

I clench my fists tighter.

His fingers run up and down her chest – the places where he touches her, I feel like hot, sweltering whips have been painted on, scorching my skin and burning irreversible marks.

These are the places where I have been dirtied.

"_See this easy slut, gasping so easily just at my touch."_

They move rhythmically together.

Each rough caress, each thrust.

He narrates for me.

My eyes.

I close them once again to avoid reality.

* * *

The shame that I feel.

Every time he touches the girl I that I touched; I feel him. The rough hands that sting as he clenches too tight, his even breath in control.

It colors me with humiliation.

The worst kind of degradation, and mortification. I've sunken so low.

My previous actions, he never fails to make me remember.

This is the ultimate suffering I must endure.

Atonement?

No.

It's not.

My.

Fault.

Yet –

This psychological torture I can't help but succumb to.

I'll fall, fall, deep into that hellish, fiery abyss where He reigns as Satan.

* * *

Almost, it's almost over.

In an ephemeral moment, both surrender to pleasures of the flesh.

Her heightened cry of lust, his low groan of satisfaction.

Both shudder to a stop.

The girl, she's limp like a broken doll, exhausted from the exertion.

Yet there's more.

His white seed – he slathers his essence onto her face, her mouth.

He's marking his property, making sure no one would touch her again, but him.

She doesn't even respond.

**DISGUSTING.**

Revolting, it's sickening.

I can't hide my gagging as I choke on my own spit.

I know this sensation full well.

The repulsive warmth, the heady smell. The forceful way -

These images.

They won't go away.

* * *

He tosses the nurse to the nearby chair as she collapses.

The soft zip of his zipper, the rustle as he buttons up his oxford shirt and straightens his tie, smoothing down his hair.

As if nothing has happened – the act is finished, the deed is done.

His purpose achieved.

"_You're filthy. Just like that skank."_

Ha.

These words are so familiar.

The wounds in my heart, healing for seven months, they've been mercilessly torn apart again.

The intricate sutures are gone – only vivid red gashes are left behind, remnants of his destruction.

The crimson red I bleed.

It'll be a long time before it heals again.

He makes a motion to leave.

_"Why….."_

He stops, momentarily startled by this weak voice.

_"If you hate me so much….why…."_

His smile grows crueler by the moonlight.

_"Why don't you let me die?"_

He turns and walks up to my bedside.

"Isn't the answer simple?"

He looks over me.

"When I finally touch this stained body of yours…"

"I'll kill you with my bare hands."

"That's how much I love you… _brother_."

* * *

Haha!

I'd love to hear your reactions

Dropped a bomb on you guys there, did I? But let me clear up some confusion – I hate OCs. I think they're annoyingly stupid and damn retarded when most people use them. Call me a hypocrite, but I needed this "Him/ He" to spice up the story a bit. There's only so many people in JR, you know?

It's a confusing(?) chapter: Shinobu is being treated at the hospital for his sickness (which you guys will have to guess later, I'll give you some clues, it's based on a real disease). He's given ultimate, superior treatment to ensure his survival, I suppose - his 'brother' won't let him die.

Also, for most of the chapter, Shinobu's back is turned, and note his brother never touches him.

R&R!


	5. Chapter 5

Hello, hello.

Sorry, it's been a long time…AP testing was a pain in the ass. Jesus, I'm glad that's now FINALLY over…yet, teachers, of course, don't give a crap and continue to give multiple tests every day.

Trying to cram a year's worth of crap into your brain in a week….your brain cells die, *snickers*

Okay, moving on…

MEETING! PROGRESS! DOWN BELOW! (Finally )

By the way, if anyone would like to know…I always listen to an absolutely beautiful song "Shiroki Yuutsu" by the GazettE whenever I write. There are truly no words for the emotions conveyed, each listen is only a step more into understanding the overwhelming sentimentalities that this song strikes in my heart.

* * *

**Curtains 5**

* * *

He's gone.

His dark back melted away in the darkness, not a remnant left of his visit.

And with that,

The bitter, acrid feeling in my mouth abated with his receding footsteps.

"_Brother"_

Those words no longer hold any meaning.

Brother? What is that?

Once, I thought I held a gold key to such a relationship in my hands.

Yet it evaded my grasp, like a flitting butterfly.

Melting, scalding these hands, slowly oozing down to return to the earth as odious rust and copper.

Leaving only behind ugly burns and scars, never meant to be healed.

Kinship like that.

It never exists.

Two syllables that will never leave my lips.

"_Brother"_

* * *

Time passed.

Still the dark, tender night with the gentle, artificial breeze blowing from the air conditioners; the slight clink of the parted curtains sliding back to place.

Turning over, I realize –

All means of escape have been cut off.

Met again with an impenetrable, ivory wall.

Like a flower, I wither on the inside, forced to ingest lethal poison.

Kept alive

Only in appearance.

Living a pitiful, artificial life: easily transformed, so hard to break away.

A flower…

My mouth twists into a snicker.

Anything but that – my existence should be that of nettle and thorns.

Unwanted, ugly

Dreadful.

Thorns that constrain and squeeze the heart, biting teeth till the organ is leeched white of crimson liquid.

Kept alive

Only to welcome Death.

* * *

My thoughts turn to the man on the other side.

Did he hear everything? Did he hear those shameful words? Did he see….

perhaps….

Perhaps he's not even here.

Only a figment of this hallucinating mind.

Sleeping peacefully at home, lulled to sleep by passing cars and the sighs of the wind.

If so…

That would be best.

Private affairs

Can only remain private that way.

* * *

A small, silent voice penetrating the night.

"_I cannot see what flowers are at my feet."_

_Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,_

_But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet…"_

A caress,

A whisper.

A melody escaping, as my mouth forms these delicate, sacred words.

No one will hear…

These expressions of pain, loneliness, and desperation.

My vision becomes blurry, brain lethargic…

Different shades blending into one; like a vortex of endless dark color.

Like lead, my eyelids droop slightly as I struggle to keep awake…

"_Wherewith the seasonable month endows_

_The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;"_

Far far away, a slight rustle jolts me from unconsciousness, the dream world.

An answer to my call.

Someone different stands before me.

A tranquil presence

A different peace.

Tides of relief wash over me; anguish melts away under his gentle gaze.

"Ode…to a Nightingale?"

The same, smooth voice of deep timbre, I've heard countless times.

Both in my mind….and the other side.

A response!

In this hazy expanse, it must be unreal, an illusion…

The light hits his face, highlighting his pronounced cheekbones, the angle of his nose.

Exactly as I imagined.

Surely it must be a dream.

His eyes….they're hidden in the shadow.

The corners of my lips turn up tiredly,

_Yes…_

Nightingale.

A poem of mortality and death

Sweet, fleeting evanescence.

Hallucinations…

It must be side effects from the heavy medication.

Yet for now; I'll play along. Content, let this delusion exist for a moment longer.

Insubstantial like mist –

Don't let it disperse now.

"_Away…_

_Away…_

_For I will fly to thee…"_

* * *

Just a little longer

May I rest.

The last thing I feel is the lingering sensation of a warm hand tangled in my hair

Before the abyss opens up and swallows me whole.

* * *

Their meeting! (It wasn't a very mushy gushy one…) But a meeting nevertheless! Hopefully things will progress…I honestly haven't planned the fine details out, OTL. But the poem: "Ode to a Nightingale" by John Keats. It's my favorite poem, an allegory, the word choice, diction is beautiful.

Jesus, using Keat's lines in this fic makes it look crappy ;_;.

Thoughts?

Review please...


	6. Chapter 6

**Due to the lack of internet connection, sucky, on and off internet connection, I didn't upload this…**

**I suppose a happier chapter, hopefully, it'll leave you feeling also a bit fuzzy and happy inside (?). Haha….tell me if it does.**

**I hope people actually still follow this...lol.**

* * *

A foreign object disrupted my vision –

Something is different

New

Unsettling the white peace I just found within this block.

A book by the desk

Along with the flowers that have long lost their colorful skirts…now white washed, like the milky, opaque 'source of life' that has only become a death trap - stagnant water.

A scarlet bound book, gold threads intertwined with the pages

Glittering even without any light.

I hesitantly reach out

Touch?

Or not?

Misplaced or Mine?

It's been so long since I've held

Such a book,

Words, that breathe life into characters

Woven tapestries of richness

The smell, the crispness, so hard to put into words

I reach out, fingertips brush the matte texture of the beauty

And hesitate

Do I?

Touch…

The sensation jolts me

If I don't touch it…will it be something that I'll regret before I leave?

If then

I will hopelessly grab and never let go.

Closing my eyes like a coward, I hug it guiltily to my chest.

Like perhaps a child with a teddy bear

Or a stolen, forbidden jar of cookies.

I squeeze my eyes closed so

So I can delude myself…

why am I scared?

Open the book just a crack;

Run my fingers through the pages

Touch.

A collection of poems.

Beautiful.

Mesmerizing.

My nose pressed against the pages, Inhaling.

And with this

Foreign drops collect, wetting the words

No the paper can't get wet –

Sudden realization that the wetness are tears -

Visions swirl as I remember the night before…

Beck and call

Like two sides of a face, like the sun and the moon

Complete

Whole.

It was him, no doubt.

"_Collection of Poems by John Keats"_

Through the tears,

I feel the corners of my lips twisting into a smile I no longer know how to form.

Perhaps – just a slight thought, that perhaps

There is someone thinking of me

Even briefly, not even a second

The thought makes me feel warm.

Fuzzy.

I finger the cover – an indirect touch, for he probably placed his fingertips here, in the exact same position.

Perhaps he has also smelled the book like this

Caressed it like so.

Looking across the room, with the curtain blocking us

The girl.

I no longer feel envy…only that

She's lucky.

Very lucky.

My face crumples, and the tears become entirely something else.

A physical collection of loneliness.

The feeling

Of complete deprivation.

I am really alone aren't I?

One day left till her surgery.

And he might never come again.

* * *

I ask for a piece of paper and a pencil.

The pencil tip is dull, used, broken.

A reflection of everything in here.

And I begin to write.

'_Sentimental feelings are feelings of weakness yet – '_

Rambles on a life forgotten.

I place it on my desk.

And hope that in the morning –

Again, I hug the book and hold it to my chest

And fall asleep.

* * *

The day has not passed…evening. The paper's still there.

In the same position, the same fold

But

New ink. Cobalt blue, the lines written on there are elegant, simple.

'_Sentimental feelings are feelings of weakness yet –_

_Once they entrap the heart, the chains of these emotions become a prison, never to be freed from.'_

I take the pencil, and write another line.

'_They squeeze till the heart ruptures, drowning in feelings that once seemed so foolish…until freedom is granted by passion even in death.' _

On the bottom of the page,

I write two simple words.

Thank you,

I murmur.

Thank you, and good night.

* * *

**Any feelings?**

**Thoughts?**

**Constructive Criticism?**

**R&R….XD**

**BTW. AHEM. FRIEND.**

**ITS BEEN LIKE HALF A YEAR. WHAT HAPPENED TO MY BELATED BIRTHDAY FIC? AND I EVEN READ SLK. I DESERVE SOMETHING, HONEY.**


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